


Visitors at Skyhold

by oOAchilliaOo



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOAchilliaOo/pseuds/oOAchilliaOo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something vaguely familiar about the woman Evelyn was talking to, like he knew her, or had known her long ago. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t recall where or when. </p>
<p>Whoever she was, she was making Evelyn laugh which, as far as he was concerned, was reason enough to like the mystery woman. </p>
<p>But who is she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitors at Skyhold

There was something vaguely familiar about the woman Evelyn was talking to, like he knew her, or had known her long ago. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t recall where or when.

Whoever she was, she was making Evelyn laugh which, as far as he was concerned, was reason enough to like the mystery woman.

He was standing in the upper courtyard, Evelyn stood in the lower. His attention was divided between the report on supply lines he held in his hand, the training match occurring in the ring before him and, as was wont to happen whenever she was in close proximity, Evelyn.

And yes the split between the three might have been slightly skewed in her direction.

So what?

She was walking among the refugees, as she often did when a new influx occurred. There was a lot she could do for these poor, weary souls as the ‘Herald of Andraste’ even just by letting them see her. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her and one of the traits he loved most, her seemingly limitless compassion. She’d walk among the dispossessed and broken and offer a kind word here, a hug there, she’d listen to their stories, let them see the tears in their eyes and offer her sincere condolences. She only had to behold a starving child and food would be found for all, if a single man shivered against the cold, blankets would be found. They never asked her for anything, but she always gave, and if anyone cared to observe them after she left there always seemed to be a resurgence of hope. 

They believed in her. She made _sure_ they believed in her.

She didn’t need to do it, didn’t have to, there was a small army of cooks and healers to care for these people. But she did it anyway, because she knew it helped them.

That wasn’t quite what she was doing this time though. This time she’d walked straight up to this oddly familiar blonde woman and greeted her as if they were old acquaintances. But they couldn’t be, could they? The blonde was clearly Ferelden-born and appeared closer to the trading classes than the nobility. It seemed unlikely that Evelyn had met such a friend in Ostwick.

The blonde said something and Evelyn laughed again, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder as she flicked her twinkling green eyes towards him, the smile still playing about her beautifully plump lips. The last rays of the setting sun cast a golden light about her, off-setting the rosiness of her cheeks and the redness of her lips.

Maker’s breath, she was beautiful.

The clang of steel on steel forced his attention whirling back to the practise ring, then back to the report, then back to her.

She was now hugging the blonde woman and gesturing up towards the guest bedrooms at the side of the keep. Apparently whoever she was, Evelyn thought her important enough to warrant a room rather than a tent like the rest of the refugees. The mystery woman looked up towards the bedrooms and then back to Evelyn with a look of profound gratitude which Evelyn promptly waved away. 

He glanced back at the report, reminding himself that he had a position to maintain and a job to do and, while a certain element of that job involved protecting the Inquisitor, he would probably be unable to successfully argue that that was the sole reason for his staring.

_Focus,_ he reprimanded himself.

Supply lines through the Western Approach. Poisonous gas. Right. Bridges? Or…

“So…toy soldiers made of straw, huh?”

His head snapped to his left to find her suddenly standing beside him, her arms casually braced on the fence surrounding the practice ring. She was looking up at him with that devilish smirk and those dancing green eyes that often heralded mischief.

_Tread carefully, Commander,_ his mind helpfully supplied.

“What?” he asked in response to her odd statement. Her smirk grew impossibly more mischievous, and he subconsciously braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Toy. Soldiers. Made. Of. Straw,” she repeated slowly, enunciating each word. “Apparently, you made some as a child and _apparently,_ you cried your ten-year-old heart out when the dog chewed them up.”

He stared at her amazed. He had a vague recollection of his sister telling him to grow up, and his brother offering to help him make more, but how in Andraste’s name did she…?

“What?” he said again, openly confused.

She simply threw her head back and laughed before stepping closer to him. He sucked in a breath as she came closer, trying to stem the hammering of his heart at her proximity.

“It’s okay Cully-Wully,” she purred in his ear. He inwardly grimaced at the stupid nickname stupid Sera had put in her head, “I won’t tell.”

The sound of her low seductive voice and the feel of her breath on his skin conspired to make it distinctly hard for him to breathe. He wondered briefly how there could be so little air out here.

Mercifully, she stepped back and he was able to bring both his heartbeat and breathing back under control.

“How do you know that?” he questioned as soon as he could trust his voice again. She shot him an odd expression that he couldn’t quite read.

“Wow, it really has been a long time,” she muttered under her breath. For a moment she looked sad and he found himself wondering why that would be. She shook her head and quirking a half-smile at him she answered his question.

“Fascinating girl I was just talking to,” she said after a moment. “What did she say her name was?” She furrowed her brow in a mockery of deep thought and he couldn’t help but be amused by her antics, “M… Mary? Madeline? Mia?”

That last name had his head twisting in the direction the blonde had gone so fast he almost snapped his neck.

“Mia Rutherford,” she confirmed just as he located his sister among those in the lower courtyard. “That was the name.”

He turned his head back to gaze at Evelyn in what he was sure was outright wonder. His mind was a jumble of one word questions. _What? How? Why? When?_

“I invited them here,” she clarified when she’d finished chuckling. “I know you worry about them as well as me while I’m out there. I thought at least if they’re here, then you only have one woman to worry over. Some of Leliana’s scouts were sent to fetch them last week, I was only told they had arrived this morning…”

She trailed off as his brain exploded with questions even as she had completely unconsciously answered the first four. Looking across the courtyard at Mia he saw it now, the slightly curly blond hair that was so similar to his own, eyes that were the same shape and shade as his. He wondered how he could have so completely failed to recognise her. She was currently talking to a man with the same blond hair, who could only be Branson, with a younger woman stood next to them, who must be Rosalie.

Two sisters and a brother.

And she had brought them here.

She was amazing, his Inquisitor. He had only once voiced his concern that something could happen to them in South Reach, and he had certainly never asked that the Inquisition’s resources be used to ease that concern. In fact, in his mind that was more or less a _misuse_ of resources but she had done it anyway. For him.

Maker’s breath, she really cared for him didn’t she? She… Holy Andraste, she really did.

“Give me this,” she said, taking the report out of his unresisting fingers, “and go speak to your family.”

“I should…” he began, vague thoughts of duty and work surfacing in his mind.

“Cullen. Go.” She interrupted, in what he had learned was her ‘no nonsense do as I say’ voice. “I can take care of the army for an afternoon.” 

It was pointless to argue he knew, and besides, she was technically his boss.

“Thank you,” he said with what he hoped was a look of profound gratitude. She smiled at him over the report she was now reading.

“Go” was her only response.

 


End file.
